


The Assassin

by BrightneeBee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Muggles have been at war with wizards for over twenty years, Hermione Granger, world-class assassin, finds herself face to face with Lord Voldemort - a wizard that disappeared from existence several decades ago. An attraction develops and Hermione finds herself doing the impossible, untouchable of all jobs: assassinate the Ruler of the Wizarding World and his family...on Voldemort’s command.<br/>This is a Time-Turner Reversal Challenge Fic for the TomioneConvention Forum. Read warnings carefully before continuing.<br/>Have left open-ended for possible sequel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Assassination of Lucius Malfoy

 **Author:** brightneeBee

 **Title of the Challenge:** Time Turner Reversal Challenge

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 **Rating:** M (fanfiction.net), Adult (AFFnet), Mature (AO3)

 **Warnings:** Depictions of violence/murder, sexual intercourse, mild-adult language (some cursing), as well as an AU!Hermione (characterization is similar to canon, but slight alterations have been made to fit the storyline)

 **Genre:** Crime, General

 **Summary:** In a world where Muggles have been at war with wizards for over twenty years, Hermione Granger, world-class assassin, finds herself face to face with Lord Voldemort - a wizard that disappeared from existence several decades ago. An attraction develops and Hermione finds herself doing the impossible, untouchable of all jobs: assassinate the Ruler of the Wizarding World and his family...on Voldemort’s command.

 **Beta Appreciation:** I am so grateful to my wonderful beta, Mariico, for holding the whip over my back and pushing me to finish this early, as well doing amazing work with my grammar and sentence-structure mistakes. She was a great distraction at times when my procrastinating nature wanted to do other things. Thanks, Mariico! <3<3

 **Word Count:** 11,000+

 

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                The breeze was cool, which meant the temperature would be quite cold once the sun rose in the morning. The sky was black and clear and speckled with bright, shining constellations. The moon was waxing, almost full, but there was still a week to go before the problem of werewolves became imminent. The woods were almost impossible to see beyond, but she the young woman danced and glided through the thick brush and clusters of trees as she sprinted after her target. Stray frizzy curls tore free from her severe bun as thorny vines caught on the bushy-ness, but nothing deterred her. She had been built for this; broken completely and then rebuilt by muggle and wizarding governments, like an experiment in a lame muggle film.

                Trained to assassinate, spy and steal, she had spent most of her life in a secret government facility being molded into what high-ranking government officials desired her to be. With the Muggle-Wizard War waging for years, she had been caught at an early age in the hopes to use a magical being against the wizarding world by the harsh muggles keeping her in captivity. Most of her life had been spent in muggle facilities actually, but after she turned eleven-years-old, that had changed. Some man, Snape, he called himself, had just popped right into the compound and left with her without a single problem. He took her to some barmy old man named Dumbledore who told her she was a witch, and then locked her in the dungeons of some creepy castle to be molded by Mr. Snape for however long it took to “train her properly.” Though, without Dumbledore’s supervision, Mr. Snape seemed to lean towards teaching her the more violent spells in his vast repertoire. He said that it was necessary to learn what the enemies had up their sleeves, and thus he pushed every bit of knowledge of the “dark arts” into her head through practice and study. She still couldn’t fathom why he would expect his enemies to be her enemies. Everyone was using her; she couldn’t trust the lot of them. They all treated her like the “muggles” they wanted to utilize her to protect. She had waited, biding her time, until all that Dumbledore and Snape knew had been taught to her, before she made her escape. It had been easy enough – Dumbledore had handed her a file with blue-prints and notes and told her what needed to be done, and had let her go. He let her go as if she were a faithful dog that would return at her Master’s command. She had done what Albus Dumbledore had asked of her, but she refused to return.

Assassin for hire was what she was in the muggle and wizarding worlds; invisible to even the most inscrutable, hawk-like eyes. She had disappeared, put her available services through the proper channels, and had taken to a life of what she liked to call “fun and games,” like a duck to water. When the price was right, she would steal priceless artifacts like a seasoned cat-burglar, seduce information out of high-ranking political figures without ever taking off an article of clothing, and even assassinated upon occasion, although those particular jobs were few and far between. She much preferred the capture and drop-off-anonymously jobs – they proved to be the most fun; “bounties,” she believed they were called. She enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline as she herded her target(s) into a corner, so to speak. Work was frequent, but there were periods of relaxation and tranquility that allowed her to go about her preferred time-wasting method of reading. Those occasional “vacations” gave her the time to delve into the other art-forms of magical education that she had yet been privy to. And she absorbed tomes on every aspect of magic that she could find before moving onto the next subject, the next tidbit of knowledge that she had been denied for so many years. It was the silver-lining to her  solitary life. Although she did find that she craved the company of what some call “friends” – people to talk with, share things with. She lived a lonely life, but she sometimes wished for a social one; she wished she had been allowed to grow up properly, develop those detrimental relationships normal beings experienced throughout their lifetimes. Of course, there were far more people who lived more miserable lives than she did; she really couldn’t complain about never experiencing the moment of gaining friendships, could she?

The shadowed outline of a fallen tree trunk loomed up ahead and Hermione could see the son of Mr. Barty Crouch. Sr., the Head of the Auror Office, leaping over it and stumbling slightly. He was still on his feet and soon his sprint regained its form. She leapt over the trunk more gracefully than her victim had and found her stride gaining on him. She let a giggly breath escape her as she pulled out her wand and sent a Blasting Hex up ahead at Mr. Barty Crouch, Jr. It collided with tree and she watched the outline of the rather large tree waiver on its pivot before it fell to the side and blocked Crouch’s path. The man growled in frustration before attempting to turn on the spot and Disapparate away. He cursed when it didn’t work – did he really think she was so inexperienced that she wouldn’t put up Anti-Apparition wards? Did he really think she wasn’t the best out there? She may have only been active on the Black Market since she was twenty, but even now as a nubile, young twenty-five year old, she was the highest-priced hitwoman/hitwitch in the British Isles – most likely in all of Europe, as well. She may not be as capable in the magic aspect as others in the wizarding world, but when it came to targets and tasks, she found the muggle way always provided an advantage. What wizard expected guns and boomerang blades when a curse or jinx would work far better? It was all a matter of opinion.

“Damn it,” exclaimed Barty from up ahead. He had to change directions, and of course he began running to the left instead of the right. He was heading directly into her trap, just as planned. Wait! What was he doing? Where did he think he was going? Crouch was diverting from her trap by running too far to the left. What was in that direction again? A cliff? No, a canyon with a river running through the middle – damn. The wards would end halfway down, which meant he could apparate away before he hit the ground.

God, she hated taking the Death Eater jobs. If the jobs didn’t pay so bloody well, she would decline them all. But since she needed the mounds of gold to keep her well insulated and hidden from Dumbledore’s little cobra, there was nothing she could do but run at full speed before Crouch made it to the cliff and got away.

The little lip-licker was close, but he still had a ways to go before he could leap and escape. She was gaining on him, and she could hear his panted declarations of damnation as he stumbled through the thick underbrush. Her feet felt light, barely gracing the forest floor as she leapt over the more dense thickets and narrowly missed the thorny vines. If Crouch, who was ahead of her, had ever been trained properly (of course, reading up on Emperor Malfoy and his following, they would be quite easy to overthrow. They were a bunch of lazy wealthy snobs that exercised by raising wine glasses to their mouths) the stringy wizard would have fared better in this environment. Oh well, not everyone could be abducted by the government after a display of accidental magic when they were four years old and be tested on before being trained as an elite soldier to protect Queen and Country. Crouch was lucky to not have fainted from overexertion by now. As chases went, Hermione was quite impressed with this wizard’s resilience. He utterly refused to be caught. Apparently, going back home to face Daddy Dearest was not on his agenda, at all.

She was barely a meter behind him now as he reached the edge of the cliff.

A flash of green light illuminated the forest around her, the source of it dimming before her near the cliff-ledge, as she lunged forward in a last spurt of energy and strength. A pale, handsome man in his mid-thirties with crimson eyes appeared just has she leaped into the air and soared gracefully past him and over the edge of the cliff. The man’s – no, the wizard’s – eyes widened for a split second before he schooled his face into a mask of calm collectiveness. He just watched coolly as she dropped, pointed feet first and arms spread wide in grace, over the edge and rushed downward on a spiralling cloud of wispy black smoke towards her target. She descended through the air with increasing speed, grabbing ahold of a screaming Crouch and disapparating away as the river below rushed up towards them. They disappeared before hitting the tips of the rock clusters peeking out just above the surface of the turbulently moving waters.

She reappeared with her bounty at the predetermined drop site, letting out a long-held breath as the thrilling sensation of adrenaline coursed violently through her veins. At the moment, Barty Crouch, Jr. was merely looking at the firm and solid ground in dismay – as though he could not believe that he was alive at all. It gave Hermione the few seconds of advantage to slip his wand from his pocket and incarcerate him in magical bindings. She conjured a piece of paper and a pen, writing a note to the target’s father, before Stupefying the now struggling wizard. She rapped on the solid wood door of the Auror Head’s home in Suffolk and apparated back to the river bank she had just left only moments previously.

Checking to see if her wards were still in place (they were not, unfortunately) she popped out of existence and back again on the edge of the cliff, looking around at the dense expanse of forest facing her. It was too dark to see clearly. The breeze played tricks on her mind as it rustled through the low-hanging branches and leaves and of the underbrush. Everything organic moved, causing Hermione to become slightly paranoid as she stepped through the trees cautiously. Her favored Browning Hi-Power 9mm handgun had already jerked upwards and been aimed with trained agility before she realized there was nothing but thorny vines fluttering out of the corner of her eye. She let out another slow breath and released the trigger before she squeezed too tightly; she didn’t need the gun going off and signifying her presence if the wizard was still around. If he was trying to lure her into a false sense of security, he would be sorely mistaken. She never let her guard down, not even when she slept. It was a deeply ingrained habit, but she felt it was a positive one to have; it would keep her alive if an enemy attempted to sneak up on her in the dark, like tonight.

She let her mind wander slightly as she stepped through the underbrush lightly, her ears tuned in to the natural sounds of the forest. She looked for anything out of the ordinary as her eyes scanned the darkness for any peculiarities. She wanted to know who he was. What had that green light been? Where had the wizard come from? How did he come about having glowing, crimson eyes? He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had perfectly symmetrical bone-structure, gorgeously arched eyebrows; his hair must be  silky as it looked. It was ebony hued and expertly styled – not a hair out of place on that beautiful head. And his skin! Oh, his skin had been so pale, so smooth – almost like white marble. His body, even surrounded by billowing black robes, seemed to be in even better condition than her own physique. Who was this man?

The red eyes had slits for pupils, and there was something about that particular choice in physical-transfiguration that Hermione found nagging at her memory. There had been a wizard – if one knew where to look for the more interesting tidbits in magical history – that had emerged with pale skin and red, serpentine eyes before disappearing again in the 1960s. He had been feared, hadn’t he? And there had been a growing army of followers that he controlled. He called himself…Bloody hell, she couldn’t remember at the moment; Lord something or another, was it not? It was on the tip of her tongue, just there hidden in the shadows of her mind, evading her. Hadn’t that Dark Wizard from the past called his followers Death Eaters as well? Yes, and before that, they had been called his Knights of Walpurgis. If she could remember that miniscule piece of information, why could she not draw out the bloody name of the wizard she had read about on so many occasions?

_Swoosh!_

Something had flitted through the underbrush a few meters away from her – something that was most certainly not an ordinary sound found in a thick forest. Hermione’s gun flew up with precision and she pointed it in the direction of the noise as she moved towards the disturbance carefully. Whoever the wizard had been, he most certainly had stayed around to see if she came back. Or else it was someone else that had been following her, in which case the unknown person in the woods with her had a bullet with his or her name on it - just for having the bollocks to mess with her when she was already wound up tighter than a line of twine.

Another swooshing sound alerted her to the fact that someone was closing in on her, tracking her like a predatory animal in search of prey.

She cursed her stupidity and lack of visibility as she turned to aim at the noise, only to be attacked from behind and slammed into a rather large tree the moment she spun around to fire a warning shot. Muscular legs stepped between hers, keeping them spread to avoid an attempt to escape. Elegant, pale hands with beautifully sculpted and masculine fingers pressed the pressure points of her wrists to make her hold on her gun slacken enough for her assailant to slide it out of her grasp. He must have pocketed it because his fingers returned and grazed the inside of her black tights clad thigh up to the holster holding her boomerang-blade - the one that she had spent hundreds of Galleons to have handcrafted just for her. The fingers gripped it, pulling it from the sheath slowly while the man’s free hand kept her wrists locked together, holding them painfully against the rough bark of the tree. The blade was pocketed, as well.

“You are a witch,” he stated. It was not a question. “And with all of these muggle contraptions I can only assume that you were raised somewhere muggle in the world...am I correct? Of course, I am - the Dark Lord is never wrong about such things. You have that muggle stench on you.”

She frowned. She did not stink of muggles - non-magical beings did not have a differentiating scent! How the hell did he know she was muggleborn, anyway? And if he was going to grope her for every piece of weaponry she had on her persons and drop it all in his robe pockets, he would be running out of room before he got to her ankles. Was this the same man with the crimson eyes, or was this a new individual with gorgeous hands and flawlessly pale skin?

He took her wand next as he hissed into her ear, “Tell me your name, witch.”

She let out a breathy chuckle at that demand. Who the bloody hell did he think he was? And why was her body reacting to the sound of his baritone low rumble? She had ignored those urges during puberty, and after she had finally known freedom, she had forgone the normal adult ritual of random one-night stands to take jobs that paid thousands of euros, Galleons, or pounds. Money, security, and multiple identities had become more important, and then books and learning had taken up her focus when she wasn’t working. Sex was not high on the list of her priorities, but at that moment, with a dominant man groping her for weapons, she found her nethers responding with throbs and tingles. Her skin flushed with a warmth that she could only identify as lust - a sexual indulgence she had yet to experience, but had read about on several occasions. Was he doing this to her on purpose?

“I told you to tell me your name,” he hissed again, with more vehemence than the last time. His hand was now pulling up the hem of her tight-fitting jumper and skimming the soft skin of her stomach before feeling around the waist of her tights and finding several blades hidden there, as well. He let out a seductive laugh as he tossed the blades off into the darkness of the forest. “I have never had a trained assassin in my grasp before...interesting...Your kind is quite elusive...un-obtainable. But very exotic, in a way. So...tell me your name, mudblood.”

She jerked in his grip but was unsuccessful - he was far stronger than she was - and resigned herself to an irritated snarl at his choice of name-calling. “Which name do you want? I have so many it’s hard to keep track-”

“Your real name, mudblood.” His tone held that air of authority to it that captured her attention. It let her know that he was dangerous - far more dangerous than she - and powerful. The air around them crackled and sizzled from the force and heat of his own raw power, making it hard to breathe.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she did it, but if she ever looked back at that moment, she would be certain that it was because of the fact that she had never found a more dominant presence besides herself and found the experience rather thrilling, in a way.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Hmm...Hermione Granger, mudblood assassin,” he mused as a foot of his felt around her ankle, finding the telltale signs of guns taped underneath her tights. “I wonder...how does a mudblood become an assassin?”

The guns disappeared with a wave of his free hand, most likely well-practiced non-verbal and wandless magic. He was above and beyond her level of magical ability - far above her capabilities. The feared Dark Lord that disappeared in the 60s, crimson eyes and slitted pupils - this was him, it had to be. He had been extremely well-versed in all aspects of magic, nothing was beneath him to learn, and he was pressing a half-erected bulge in his pants against her lower back in order to keep her body firmly against the huge trunk of a tree! What was she supposed to do with that kind of information? And why, for the life of her, could she not remember the wizard’s bloody name? Or was it nickname? Lord something....Lord something....The Dark Lord....something - what was it?!

“Your heart is racing,” he said into the skin at the back of her neck. His nose brushed up against her nape and she responded with a small gasp, a tiny inhalation of breath as the sensation of pulsing warmth spread through her body.

What was he doing to her?

“Do I intimidate you, mudblood?”

Did he have to sound so amused by that possibility? “It’s not everyday that a ‘filthy mudblood’ like me is in the presence of a Dark Lord that disappeared over twenty years ago-”

“Twenty years?” he asked, intrigued but his tone held a hint of agitation. “I have been gone for twenty years? Tell me the date, mudblood.”

“It’s the 28th of September...2005,” answered Hermione.

His grip on her wrists tightened to excruciating pain as the skin dug into the bark of the tree, scratching her flesh until she could feel the wounds welling up with blood. She bit back a grunt as he forced the bark in deeper, dragging her wrists down the trunk and up again. He snarled, but it came across as hissing to her ears. Did he think he was a snake? What kind of lunatic was pressing up against her?! Did he escape from an asylum or something?

“I am no lunatic, Hermione Granger,” growled He-Who-Refused-To-Introduce-Himself. “I am the Dark Lord - the only Dark Lord. And, for your inferior information, I speak fluent Parseltongue, which explains the hissing that you so ignorantly commented on.”

“A Legilimens,” she acknowledged, rolling her eyes and earning herself a shove into the tree. The bark dug into the skin of her cheek, causing her to let out a short, “Umph!” 

“Do not offend me again, mudblood,” hissed the wizard behind her. He pressed his front against her back more forcefully, pinning her completely against the tree and keeping her from being able to move enough to throw him off. His breath was hot against her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck in a very sensual manner. “From this moment on, I am your Master...you will answer to me!”

She scoffed as best as she could, but it came across as more of a sigh than anything else she could muster. She was able to manage an impressive clipped tone, “I. Am. Not. A. Slave.”

“You will be anything that I deem you to be,” said the wizard maliciously. He grabbed the bun at the base of her neck and wrenched her head backwards so his cheek was caressing hers. “You will take me to your secured place of residence, mudblood, and then you will tell me everything that has happened since I left 1963. Do you understand me?”

She swallowed with difficulty, but answered regardless in a tight voice, “I understand you perfectly. Unfortunately, I do not see how you think I will help you when you are keeping me compressed against this tree. But I will take you to one of my ‘places of residence,’ just to get you off of me.”

He patted her head like she was a dog - like she was a “good girl” for obeying him - before stepping away and dragging her backwards with him by her wrists. He brought her wrists down from above her head and she twisted on the spot, taking him with her into that inconceivably compressed space that was disapparation. They reappeared in one of her hidey-holes; a sparsely furnished flat in a low-rent section of London. It was the one she used when Dumbledore’s hound was close to finding her. At one point she had decided Snape’s overly large nose was used to sniff her out when he was a hair’s width away from catching her - sometimes she would even call him “the Bloodhound” when she was in a tenacious mood. Although, she had to give Snape a small round of applause for his ability to track the unfindable. She had spent a lot of time and energy and money keeping her own self hidden from all of those who wanted to re-capture her, to own her again.

“Who is this Snape that you keep thinking about?” asked the handsome wizard that she had seen before when she flew over the edge of the cliff after Crouch.

She still couldn’t remember his name.

She sniffed, “None of your business.”

Hermione set about making tea and pulling stale biscuits from the cupboards in the open kitchen. She ignored him as he settled on the threadbare sofa in the next room. Pulling down a ceramic plate from another cabinet full of cobwebs, she wiped the thin film of dust off before dumping the box of biscuits onto it unceremoniously. The wizard irritated and titillated her simultaneously and she damn well wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of presenting nummies to him on a silver platter, laid out in a way that was aesthetically pleasing - no, siree. He may have turned her on, something she had never experienced before, but he also enraged her sense of self. How dare he call her a “mudblood” and treat her like filth? Who the hell did he think he was?

“I am waiting,” came an arrogant voice from the living room.

Rolling the tension out of her shoulders because she was weaponless to the extreme, she carried the small plate and teapot into the small sitting area, setting them down on the ragged coffee table. She remained silent as she turned back to the kitchen to retrieve two teacups. He was smirking at her, like he was pleased with her over something she had done. Was it because her first priority was to set a semi-decent tray of biscuits and tea? If he thought that then he would bitterly surprised when he bit into that first cookie and found it stale as all hell.

She set the cups on the table and sat across from him in a frail chair with little padding. She set him with a blank stare, “How did you travel through time?”

                “There is a very simple answer to that, mudblood,” he answered with a smirk. “I am sure even your miniscule brain would be able to understand.”

                “And what is the answer?”

                “I felt a tug around my navel, I disappeared, and then I reappeared in front of you.”

                “So, you don’t know.”

                “Lord Voldemort always knows,” he sneered, taking a bite of a biscuit from the plate. He made a disgusted face and spat the stale cookie onto the floor, “What is this shite?”

                Hermione smirked. “Well...let’s get this over with, shall we?”

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                She didn’t understand how she came to be in such a position, but if he continued grinding into her with that delicious swirling maneuver that he was doing right now, she would be die happy. “Please...please!” she whimpered, feeling that wonderful pressure building up inside of her but unable to jump over the ledge into oblivion. It was so good - so very good - but he delighted in torturing her. Making her hold her own release back while he found new positions to fold her into, new ways to claim her body, enjoying her as long as he wished, while she slipped further into exhaustion. She wondered what he would do to her if she actually succumbed to the boneless-ness and fell asleep while he slammed into her?

                “I would Cruciate you,” answered Voldemort from behind her. To emphasize that she would remain awake, he lifted her leg, bending it back and upward, before wrapping it around his waist and holding it there with a tight grip around her ankle. His free hand grabbed a chunk of her frizzy hair and yanked it back until her back was arched painfully. “And I would keep you under the curse until I finished. You remember how frustrated you became after the last time, do you not, my little mudblood?”

                She whimpered again, but stayed awake, moaning as he continued to hit that sweet spot inside of her. At that moment, she didn’t even care that her hip joint was bent, stretched and twisted to the point that it could pop out of socket. She felt amazing - she always felt amazing when this cruel, domineering man was pounding into her - and part of her did wish that it would never end.

She didn’t mind that he stole the covers because he tended to pull her against him while he slept. Or that he had taken it upon himself to test her magical abilities when she wasn’t absent accepting and completing jobs offered to her. After the lengthy time it had taken to grow comfortable around him, she had found him quite a titillating conversationalist. It was the first time she had held a conversation with anyone that didn’t revolve around her capturing or killing another human being.

She hoped that he stayed here with her forever, just as long as he kept doing the swirl-thing with those gorgeously pale hips.

“Scream for me, Hermione...Show your Master how much you appreciate what is given to you,” he hissed, pulling her hair back as far as her spine would allow and releasing his hold over her body. “Come for me!”

She convulsed and screamed as her nerve-endings exploded in a symphony of pleasure; her orgasm drowning out everything around her. She vaguely felt him lower his torso against hers and biting her shoulder as he growled his own release into her flesh. His teeth pierced her skin, drawing blood, and she could only derive jolts of electric indulgence from the sharp pain. She slumped down against the mattress as he let go of her leg. He collapsed on top of her, breathing harshly while he moved her mass of bushy hair off of her back, nipping the nape of her neck before resting his forehead against her skin. He stayed there, softening inside of her, while they both attempted to regain their strength.

They were both slick with sweat, leaving the mattress underneath them quite damp. Hermione could not fathom why she had put off sex as long as she had. Months ago, when she had first encountered Lord “I-Travelled-Through-Time” Voldemort, she had found him quite attractive, but extremely off-putting. The fact that he refused to leave her alone - following her back to her more furnished and larger flat in Wales - had irritated her to no end. She still did not know how he found her so quickly after she left him in the dump apartment in London, or how he took down her wards without her knowing. It was confusing, to say the least. The fact that he declined to go back to where he came from and instead had made himself at home in her master-bedroom had enraged her to an entirely new level. Being a very stubborn person, she had sent all of her banished things from the spare room to her room, several times. She refused to be shoved out of her own space, so she had told him bluntly that she would not be sleeping in any other bed but her own. Oh, how daft she had been.

“You will never rid yourself of me, Hermione,” breathed Voldemort against her shoulder-blade. “You. Are. Mine.”

She sighed, completely content, even if he was a rather unbearable person most of the time. “Anything you wish...”

“Say it,” he hissed, biting down on her shoulder again.

“My Lord,” she obliged, squirming underneath him and enjoying how slippery their bodies were. “Anything for you, my Lord.”

“Good,” said Voldemort. “It pleases me when you are compliant, Hermione. As long as you continue to obey, I will continue to reward you. Does that not sound appealing, mudblood?”

She nodded and sighed; the once offensive name had become a term of endearment to her that she enjoyed hearing him say, over and over again. Especially while he shagged her into a coma. She realized that she would do anything for him because the perks were just that amazing. The opposite was terrifying - no one desired to be put under the Cruciatus Curse for ten minute intervals during sex - but the evil wizard was a catch-22 in so many ways. She could please him and he would reward her with a Crucio just to make certain she knew her place; she could displease him and be punished with aforementioned curse, or she could please him and be shown the pleasures of his body and what he could do with it, for hours on end. Sometimes, the pain was worth the end result, as she had always been told. Better to be honest with herself and take the attentions of the Devil she knew, instead of the Devil still unknown. And Lucius Malfoy was still very unknown to her.

She licked her lips and spoke after a long, silent pause, “Will you be accompanying me on the Malfoy job, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he answered, rolling off of her and pulling her with him. He was growing hard again inside of her and she hoped it would go away. The man really couldn’t go for six hours, could he? That would be the third time today! He could not possibly expect her to be able to perform again after everything all the contortionist-like things he had done to her already...could he? He chuckled into her neck, “I wish to see how you plan to kill him. I desire to see you butcher him...I want to see you covered in the blood of the Malfoy family...”

The hard thrust against her cervix told her that, yes he did expect her to keep up with his stamina. And as he spoke of what he wished her to do to the Malfoys, she could only shudder in the anticipation his smooth baritone was laced with.  Her muscles clenched around him and he sucked in a breath at how tight she was - she couldn’t believe she was actually still in the mood for more. He pulled out and slammed back into her. It amazed her how thick he was; long and wide, Hermione was certain the average male genitalia was not THAT large. Although, she didn’t have any other man in her bed to compare penis-sizes with. The wizard in her bed was the ONLY man she had ever seen in the nude. But it seemed quite rude to be thinking about comparing penis sizes when moaning while the darkest wizard of all time was running his hands over her breasts and thrusting into her.

The date was set; her surveillance would begin the following night in preparation, and Hermione would do the impossible: assassinate Lucius Malfoy, Ruler of the Wizarding World. And his family.

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                The winter night was clear, and the air was crisp as Hermione formed a hole  in the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor. Stepping through, she slid to the side and allowed Voldemort to enter as well. The wards filled in behind them as they looked up at the tall expanse of the stone wall looming over them. Without hesitation, Hermione began scaling the fortress wall with practiced ease; each limb pressing against the stone and sliding up to prevent any accidental “tripping” of the wards. It would be disastrous if they were apprehended before they even made it inside the property. It would definitely ruin Hermione’s outstanding reputation in the cat-burglary market. Getting into a highly secured building, stealing something, and getting back out without being caught was kind of a give-in when being offered a job. Well, slipping in and out without being caught was something that applied to a range of jobs that could be offered to her in her line of profession. Failure was never an option for her; it was beaten into her DNA after so many years of C.I.A.-like training.

                Halfway up the wall, she looked back and saw Voldemort standing below, gazing up at her. Confused, Hermione whispered down to him, “What are you doing?”

                He cocked his head to the side in amusement, “Has it ever occured to you that magic would have worked far better in this instance? Or are you so muggle that using magic is something that has to be suggested to you?”

                She glared and continued to climb the wall, ignoring his sniggering as she reached the top and peered over the ledge. Three security-wizards were walking the perimeter of the wall separating Malfoy Manor from the rest of the world. Up towards the manor, she could make out four more of the security detail walking along the outside of the ridiculously large house. She wondered if there was a gala being held that night to have twice as many Aurors outside checking for any gate-crashers or...attempts at assassination. There shouldn’t have been anything more than a civil familial dinner tonight - the Christmas gala was scheduled for the next week. The amount of guards must be a coincidence that Hermione could not foresee, and that was what she told herself.

                With a practiced Silencing Charm blanketing the two guards passing each other underneath her, Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm on her and jumped down from the wall. She almost shrieked when Voldemort appeared next to her for a brief moment before becoming invisible again, melting into the darkness. Hermione slinked off after the guard closest to her, bristling over the Dark Lord’s blatant display of how wonderfully brilliant he was at magic compared to her. Close enough to press her face against the wizard’s back, Hermione snapped her arms and placed her hands around the Auror’s head expertly; she twisted his neck back quickly, hearing the sickening snap of the vertebrae separating from the spinal cord. The tall, wiry man dropped dead on the spot and she banished the body to one of her less-used flats for her to take care of later.

                Turning around, she saw a dim flash of light - emerald green and not incredibly difficult to determine what spell her “associate” had used - and she cringed. He used magic too much and he was going to get them caught before they even made it into the house. At least her maneuver went unnoticed  in the dark. Sometimes, the muggle way was the most effective way, and he was unwilling to see that. She would have growled in frustration if the third guard wasn’t strolling towards her.

                Hermione flattened her back against the wall and waited for the wizard to...Oh, it was a witch. Well, that would be easy, wouldn’t it? Apparently, no.

                As the patrol-witch passed in front of her, Hermione reached out to snap the woman’s neck as well, but found her attempt blocked. The witch dropped to the ground in a crouch, jutting her leg out in a sweeping motion to knock Hermione off of her feet. Noticing the move, Hermione did a backflip, catching the witch’s chin and throwing the woman backwards as Hermione flipped and landed on her feet in a fighting stance. So far, no wands had been drawn, and Hermione was hoping to keep it that way. Flashy spellwork and the lights that followed would only alert other security guards of the fact that there were people on the grounds that weren’t supposed to be there. The last thing Hermione needed was for her location to be given away.

                The Auror stepped closer, swinging out a fist and finding air instead of an opponent’s face. Taking the opportunity, Hermione lunged and kicked out a foot, hitting the woman’s knee with enough force that she blew out the joint instantly. The Auror caught herself before she completely crumpled to the ground, hobbled on one leg and attempted another punch at Hermione’s face. She missed again, and Hermione fell back on her arms and caught the woman’s head between her thighs. Twisting in a jerking motion, the witch’s head snapped to the side and fell to the ground, dead. Hermione opened her legs and flipped backwards back to her feet again. A flick of her wand banished the woman’s body to join the male Auror that Hermione had taken down previously. Out of sight and out of mind for the moment.

                Wiping the sweat from her brow, Hermione slid along the wall until she could see Voldemort in the shadows, waiting for her. His pale skin stood out the closer she inched towards him. Sometimes, his otherworldly beauty took her breath away at the most inopportune moments. His eyes glittered with the adrenaline from killing a man, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat. What a show-off, Hermione grumbled as he smirked at her. Yes, a big show-off.

                “Are those the only guards walking the perimeter?” he asked, an amused tone lacing his words.

                She narrowed her eyes, even though she hadn’t lifted the Disillusionment Charm, and glared at him, “The only guards walking the wall. There are four Aurors securing the perimeter of the manor.”

                He disappeared under his own Concealment Charm, “Then get to it, mudblood. I do not have all night.”

                She glared at him a little while longer before she took off in a sprint across the dark grounds. Her objective was to slip into the house through a window in the library; the room was less likely to be checked during a guard patrol. Hopefully, her plans would go smoothly from this point onward. A tussle inside would make far more noise than on the grounds, and Hermione really didn’t want another bout of hand-to-hand combat with another Auror.

                Pulling out a more modern piece of weaponry from the holster at her lower back, Hermione screwed on a silencer and raised it with both hands, ready to aim and kill at a seconds notice. The metal of the gun felt ice-cold through her leather gloves and she realized that it was snowing. She breathed out through her nose, thankful that the past week had been warm enough to melt the blankets of snow on the grounds before tonight. She didn’t have to worry about her footprints in the snow, and that was an upside.

                “An’ Jimmy told his wifey there that it won’t none of ‘er business if he were out all night. Said she needed to get her pert arse in the kitchen an’ do the washin’,”  a thickly built Auror barked out a laugh as he clapped his partner on the back. The younger wizard looked at his mentor nervously, wheezing out a chuckle as the wind was repeatedly knocked out of him. “Isn’t that ther the most hilarious thing yeh ev’r ‘eard, Albie?!”

                “Yea-yes, sir,” Albie answered.

                Hermione smirked. Aiming her gun, she squeezed the trigger gently and fired one shot into the larger Auror’s forehead. His brain matter flew out of the back of his head, and Albie did a double take as the beefy man fell to the ground and bled into the grass, mid-laugh. Moving the gun a swift three centimeters to the left, Hermione fired another shot and prided herself at the clean bullet-hole present between Albie’s eyes as the scrawny man fell to the ground the same way as his mentor - actually, the body fell on top of his mentor’s - and the man’s brain matter painted the stone wall of the manor in globs of blood and brains and skull fragments.

                A wave of her wand and it all disappeared. The bleeding bodies at her feet transfigured into inconspicuous pebbles that she tossed out into the grass before she continued to search for the library window.

                She encountered Voldemort on her search, but he had already taken care of the other two patrolling Aurors on the other side of the manor. Hermione let her fingertips graze against the large, french windows of the library as she looked for a loose hinge, but the windows were latched and sealed tight. Pulling out her wand, she cast a Silencing Charm on the windows before casting an Unlocking spell on the latch on the inside. The hook popped out of the clasp and the windows swung open towards her. The library was empty and Hermione lifted herself up and swung her legs over the windowsill. She landed on the hardwood floors inside the warm room, crouched down behind the desk in front of the windows, and leaned around the side of the desk to scan the room.

                Certain that they were alone, she stood and turned to pull Voldemort through, only to find him standing behind her. His hand covered her mouth before she could yelp, stifling the gasp that she experienced instead. Did he have to do that every time? He was going to give her palpitations! And he did it so silently - how the bloody hell was he able to do these things so silently?!

                She settled for glaring at his, once again, smirking face before she set off through the library, her eyes catching sight of some rare texts on the shelves. If she had the time, she would scour the library for any tomes she needed to add to her collection, but she had a job to complete - the Malfoys weren’t going to off themselves. She would have to come back before the Ministry swept through and disposed of any dark artifacts before the rest was put up for auction.

                Masking her frown, she sustained her Concealment Charm, feeling Voldemort’s presence directly behind her, and cracked the large mahogany doors open to peer out into the corridors. For the moment, the hall was empty; there were no signs of disillusioned Aurors or jolly party-guests traveling through. Hermione slipped through the small opening between the double doors and slinked off down the corridor, taking care to not make a sound with her light-weight shoes on the marble flooring. She kept close to the walls, feeling around the enormous paintings and wall-tapestries for any hidden doors or passages that were supposed to be there. At least, that was what the blueprints of the manor had indicated.

                Behind a tapestry of the Malfoy family tree, Hermione found a small, dented square that was pressed into the wall. A narrow archway materialized. There was a staircase ascending to the second floor in the East Wing. It was unlit, but a muttered Lumos allowed her enough light to see the steps before she tripped on them. She glided up as gracefully as she could, noticing that the Dark Lord behind her was managing grace easier than she with his billowy black robes, and she felt a twinge of jealousy. He was so God-like and she was just ordinary and plain. He floated more than walked; and she had to assume that he had more time during his life to perfect that air of entitlement and poise that he exuded so effortlessly. His nature was so ethereal at times and yet, so wrathful when something displeased him in any way. All in all, he was a beautiful and peculiar specimen to behold.

                He chuckled softly as they neared the top of the stairs, “I will take that as a compliment, mudblood.”

                She sniffed, “Take it as a compliment if you wish, since I don’t hand those out...ever. Nevertheless, don’t let it go to your ever-expanding head, my Lord.”

                “Offending your Master will not earn you a reward once you complete the task that I have given you,” he hissed into her ear, his front pressed firmly against her back. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before she shook off the rising arousal and answered with a curt, “Hmph!”

                Extinguishing the tip of her wand, Hermione peeled back the tapestry blocking the passageway and scanned the hallway with an invisible eye. Seeing two Aurors standing guard outside an elaborate bedroom door, she turned and grinned at Voldemort before pulling out a blow-dart from the depths of her overly-bushy ponytail. She withdrew two darts from her hair-tie and inserted one into the exhale end and eyed the distance between the first Auror and herself. With expert precision, Hermione took in a deep breath, pressed the blow-dart to her lips and blew out with force. The poisoned dart zoomed in a straight line towards the jugular of the short, blond wizard closest to her position. While the first dart flew towards its target, Hermione had already packed the second dart into the weapon and was aiming for the second, dark-skinned Auror.

                Seeing his partner grab at his throat and slump to the floor, the dark-skinned wizard withdrew his wand and threw up a shield, but it was of no use. Hermione’s second dart soared through the shield and sunk into its target’s neck, paralyzing him almost instantly. She scanned the corridor again before stepping out from her hiding place and taking cautious steps towards the guards on the floor. Pointing her wand at them, she bound their limbs with magical rope and banished them to the flat holding the bodies of the two other Aurors she needed to dispose of after she was done here. The paralytic would last four hours; it was plenty of time to complete her job.

                “How many types of weapons do you have hidden on your person, mudblood?” The Dark Lord breathed against her ear from behind. “Where do you hide them all?”

                “Wherever there is space to hide them,” answered Hermione, amused at his surprise.

                She turned and held a dainty finger to his lips, signifying silence before she began working on the wards on the bedroom doors. The room was just as heavily warded as the manor itself. In a short amount of time - knowing what she was working with now - Hermione created an opening that she enlarged to allow entry through the double doors. She could hear voices filtering through the doors, angry voices, and she knocked upon hearing a woman shriek her climax. Pulling a roll of twine and unwinding enough for a line, she stepped to the side as the door opened and a young, blond man with pointy features stepped outside.

                “What, Lawrenc-” he stopped, noticing that his guards were missing.

                Taking another tentative step out of his room, the young man wrapped in a robe of the finest, richest fabric looked up and down the hallway to find it empty. Seriously, how dimwitted was this family? And they were ruling the wizarding world with an iron fist? Hermione stretched the twine  in front of her and lowered it over the blond’s head, catching his adam’s apple and pulling his back flush against her. His fingers grasped the thin, metal line cutting into his windpipe, but she had already tightened her grip and knew that the twine was already slicing into the skin. Maneuvering the young blond into the room, Hermione saw a nude, frightened woman on the bed who opened her mouth to start screaming.

                Aware that she was now visible, Hermione witnessed the Dark Lord sending a Silencing Charm over the woman - Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass, the Malfoy heir’s wife - keeping the woman mute.

                The bedroom doors were shut, locked, and more heavily warded than before they had entered. Voldemort sneered at the snivelling blond woman on the bed before dispatching her quickly with a simple Killing Curse. He turned to Hermione and her struggling victim. Malfoy Junior was still kicking his legs out and scratching at his throat in an attempt to free himself. It only caused Hermione to pull the twine towards her more, securing the pure-blood as she forced him to walk towards the bed.

                He was almost an inch taller than she, platinum blond hair, slate-grey eyes, and a pale yet peachy complexion. He looked to be the same age as her, and his face was pinking from overexertion, but none of that mattered to her. She forced him to lay down on the bed next to his dead wife and put a secure knee onto his back to keep him from trying to throw her off. Removing the bloody twine from his neck, she pulled her wand out and cast a strong Imperio. The sensation settled upon her, that feeling of controlling a marionette that spread from the tip of her wand and outwards to her target.

                “Turn over on your back,” she ordered and watched the young Malfoy do as commanded. His eyes were glazed over and his face was unresponsive, but the rising of his chest and the fact that he obeyed confirmed that he was still alive. Withdrawing her pistol with the silencer attached, she held it out to the Imperio’d wizard and he took it willingly on her order. “Sit up and put the gun in your mouth.”

                He did so without blinking, a dazed smile on his face.

                “Pull the trigger,” ordered Hermione, and she did not cringe when the Malfoy heir obeyed. His mouth filled with air as the gun expelled a bullet through the open cavern, through the space behind his uvula, and discharged through the back of his head. The bullet flew out and imbedded itself into the headboard behind him, along with chunks of his brain, skull fragments, and globs of blood.

                She took the wizard’s wand from his nightstand and pointed it at the witch in the bed. Already dead, Hermione cast another Killing Curse at her; the emerald light illuminated the candlelit room before disappearing just as quickly. Placing the wand in Malfoy’s other hand and curling the fingers around the base, Hermione turned her back on the scene and left the bedroom. There was no need to take the gun back since it wasn’t even hers. Besides, the Aurors would need it for the investigation into the murder/suicide. As far as her intel told her, the wife of Draco Malfoy had been cheating on her husband for several months now, a likely motive for her murder and his subsequent blowing his brains all over the walls. And the only child of Lucius Malfoy liked to collect high-end muggle pistols in secret, apparently. She only had to lift the gun from his wall panel the last time she had followed Draco Malfoy to his estate in France; the naughty boy hid his hobby from his father very well. All in all, it was enough to cause any investigators to pause and scratch their heads in confusion. And that was the point of setting up such a befuddling scene.

                Gripping her wand in one hand and a new pistol with a silencer in the other, Hermione eyed the grinning Dark Lord next to her as they journeyed through the corridors of the East Wing of Malfoy Manor. They worked together in the shadows, in sync with the other’s movements as they incapacitated guards and guests alike - whoever crossed their paths - on their way to the West Wing, where Ministerial Ruler Lucius Malfoy and his wife resided. It seemed the closer Hermione and Voldemort got to the leader of the wizarding world, the more difficult it was to take down the Aurors. But eventually, their opponents fell and the bodies vanished, most likely creating a nice pile in the living room of her dusty, unused flat in London. And then the Dark Lord and his pet mudblood-assassin were back on track and closer to destroying Lucius Malfoy, and soon after, everything he had built in Voldemort’s previous image.

                “Do you feel that, too?” breathed Hermione, feeling the telltale tingle of Disillusioned people up ahead.

She looked to Voldemort, only to see him nod once. They tapped their wands on their heads and dissolved into invisible shimmers as they moved stealthily down the corridor. The concealed Aurors suddenly appeared, their Concealment Charms cancelled out by an unknown spell cast by Voldemort. Hermione used their moments of shocked pause and rushed up behind one, snapping his neck before any of the others could react. As her first victim fell to the ground with a dull thud, Hermione swept another’s legs out from under him and put a bullet through his temple.

The reaction to two fellow Aurors dropping dead in the span of twenty-three seconds caused a rush of shouts and yells from all the guards that were still alive. Shields were raised and curses were thrown down the corridor in her direction, but she was able to dodge them as she made quick work of giving each guard a swift death from whatever opening the guards gave her. No one checked behind them anymore; it was really too easy with wizards, sometimes.

When all of the Aurors lay crumpled on the floor, Hermione materialized near the shimmer of Voldemort before vanishing the bodies to the empty flat to be dealt with later. “Why don’t you stay cloaked in that charm until Lucius is secured? I’m sure he will be pleasantly surprised to see your handsome face. Seeing as how his father denied being your follower after you disappeared.” She smirked, “This should be quite fun.”

His shimmer chuckled, and a cool finger traced the line of her cheekbone before sliding over her lips. He withdrew his hand as he spoke, “You are quite amusing, my little mudblood.”

“You say that to all the mudbloods,” replied Hermione, taking down the wards on the bedroom doors completely, and under thirty minutes as well. It was her quickest time so far.

With her wand at the ready, she opened the doors enough to slide through and entered the room swiftly while Voldemort followed. It was dimly lit, but there was enough light to work with. The carpeting glittered around the edges, the silver-thread border standing out against the emerald-green lushness. The floor-length curtains were a darker shade of green; no border or metallic silver thread embroidered into the rich velvet material. Everything corresponded to everything else, complementing subtly or contrasting in an aesthetically pleasing manner. The bedroom doors closed and locked with a click while Hermione stood next to the bed, peering down at the slumbering form of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. She was quite a beauty, and Hermione could see the witch’s son in her features. Yes, the Malfoy heir took after his mother, especially around the eyes and mouth. For a moment, Hermione wondered if the Malfoy bloodline had ever intermingled with veelas in past generations. The family of three were all so blond and beautifully pale. Perhaps the Blacks and Malfoys did have veela backgrounds at some point, but what did that matter, really? The son was dead, and his parents were soon to follow. Hermione’s jealousy at Narcissa and her angelic beauty and that perfectly straight hair was irrelevant.

Aiming her wand at the snoring man to Narcissa’s left, Hermione cast a Sleeping Charm, heavy enough to keep him in a dream-state until she brought him out of it. She slid the wand into her hair for the moment as she continued to gaze down at the breathtakingly beautiful woman in the bed. Taking a long blade out of a sheath strapped to her thigh, Hermione gripped it tightly as she raised her free hand and slapped the woman hard across the face, leaving a pink handprint on that flawlessly pale cheek.

Narcissa woke with a yelp, bringing an elegant and manicured hand to cup her stinging face. Her eyes widened at the sight of Hermione, the blade in her hand, and Narcissa screamed, throwing her arms up in defense. Hermione slashed the blade downward, slicing through her target’s supple flesh and feeling the hot blood spurt out to splatter against her face. The arms lowered and Narcissa turned towards her husband, giving Hermione the perfect opening - she took it.

“Your family is quite moronic, Narcissa,” Hermione said, her voice void of any emotion as she slashed the blade downward at an angle one last time, cutting through the woman’s carotid artery as though the skin were made of butter. The resultant spray of arterial blood coated Hermione’s face and throat in crimson; Narcissa Malfoy died in seconds, her blood drenched the mattress and pillows around her. “The Order of the Phoenix would have put up a better fight.”

“Turn around, Hermione,” Voldemort said from the end of the bed. His voice held uncontainable excitement, “Let me see you, carmine and oleaginous.”

There were a few candles floating around the room, enough to make the blood on her glisten as she turned and looked at him. His red eyes flickered with lust as he looked her up and down before motioning for her to come hither. She obeyed and crossed the distance, allowing him to reach out and drag her those last few centimeters until she was flush against him. His lips crushed hers in a bruising kiss and he licked her mouth before shoving his tongue between her teeth to overpower her own. His kiss was dominating and passionate and searing; everything that made him such an extraordinary lover and vicious Master.

She moaned into his mouth.

“You. Are. Beautiful,” he rasped between kissing her and pushing her backwards onto the bed. “I must have you, Hermione...right...now...”

He vanished their clothing and moved her further onto the bed, climbing up her body to hover above her. Blood was smeared over his mouth and chin, contrasting with his own pale skin and complementing his red, slitted eyes. He looked crazed in that moment, but so resplendent that Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. He nudged her knees open with his thighs and entered her swiftly, his mouth attacking her blood-slickened neck. He buried himself to the hilt and Hermione groaned at the feel of him filling her completely.

He pulled out and slammed back into her, thrusting against her cervix violently, over and over and over again. She moaned as he rolled his hips so his pelvic bone ground against her little bundle of nerves and his hand reached up to pinch and pull at her hardened nipple. He smeared the blood at her neck over his face even more as he attacked the sensitive spot just under her ear, biting and suckling before moving onward to her collarbone. It was individually hot and wrong to Hermione,  how erotic this moment was, and how disgusted she should be by participating in such an act on a bed with a dead body. He swirled his hips as his pelvis met hers, and she found that she did not care. This was amazing; he was amazing, and a dead body didn’t care if Hermione was laying half on its legs being shagged two way from Sunday.

Another thrust, teeth grazing over her nipple, two more thrusts, a roll of his hips against her to massage her clit - oh yes, Hermione definitely did not care where she was or what she should be doing. Her surroundings melted into black and all that was left was him. The sensations that his body transferred to hers, the feel of his teeth biting down on her breast, the brutal and intense assault of his cock into her, and his free hand wrapping itself into her ponytail and yanking her head back; it all overloaded her nervous system. The experience was too much and she bucked underneath him, undulating to meet his thrusts and reveling in the sound that his bollocks made as they slapped against her bottom. He hissed in Parseltongue, growled and grunted against her slick skin, heightening her pleasure as he continued to bury himself inside of her deeply as possible.

She felt more alive than she ever had in her entire life. It was like Voldemort had awakened something inside of her; he had breathed a fire into her withered soul, given her one thing to cling to in life...Him. Voldemort was her lover, teacher, Lord and Master, and she found that she quite liked relinquishing the reigns to him. He was a cruel bastard, but he had shown a small glint of tenderness through his cold words that no one else had. Yes, he was a master at manipulation, a liar at times, a stone-cold murderer, but who was she to judge? She was exactly the same, only slightly less experienced. There was so much still to learn from him, and if she helped him regain control of the wizarding world, she would be given a safety she had yet to know. She would be allowed a freedom she had been denied for so long, and she would be allowed to do as she pleased once Dumbledore and his little Order were destroyed. Life would be better...

He slammed into her again, with more force than before, and he snarled against her cheek, “Come for me, Hermione...Scream for your Master!”

Her body clenched around him painfully and she screamed like she was told, “My Lord! Master, yes!”

“Mine,” grunted Voldemort, planting himself against her cervix and stilling as he emptied his bollocks into her. His mouth covered hers and they moaned in unison as they came down from their high. After a pause he collapsed on top of her, his breathing labored. “All...mine...”

“Yesss....all yours,” she replied breathily.

They lay there for a long while, catching their breath and listening to the loud pounding of their heartbeats slowing down to a normal pace. She could feel him softening inside of her before he pulled out and stood, cleaning himself with a flick of his wand and dressing himself with another wave. He stood there and gazed down at her with a closed-off expression before turning his attention to the slumbering Lucius and lifeless Narcissa next to Hermione. His look was calculating, like he was deciding on what form of death would best suit the blond pure-blood who dared to take Lord Voldemort’s place in history. When his sanguine and serpentine eyes narrowed, Hermione understood that whatever the Dark Lord had planned would not be a merciful and swift death.

“Stand and dress, Hermione,” he said, his tone slightly softer than what she expected. His eyes still held that coldness she knew too well. “You still have work to do, and I have a wizarding world to liberate.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

She stood and dressed on weak legs. Still covered in Narcissa’s blood, she grabbed her blade and wiped the cardinal-hued residue on the bed-sheets before sliding it back into its sheath. She pulled her wand from her hair and levitated Lucius Malfoy from his bed to a waiting chair near the dying fireplace. The wizard was secured into the overly stuffed chair with a whispered Incarcerous before Hermione cancelled her Sleeping Charm, bringing him to alertness quickly. She leaned against the bedpost as she watched the pompous aristocrat scan the room, his eyes falling on the horrific sight that was the bed and his bloodied wife carved up. The man stared in horror for what seemed like a long time before he looked at Hermione, venom in his eyes.

Before he could open his mouth, Hermione gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy...I’m not sure we’ve met? I would assume you at least know of my Master...he’s quite a powerful wizard - the most powerful wizard in history, if I remember correctly...Everyone knows his name - Lord Voldemort - does that ring a bell?”

Lucius remained silent, but his eyes widened in fear as Voldemort stepped around the chair, moving to stand a few meters away, but just in the pure-blood’s line of sight. Hermione watched Malfoy tremble, his complexion growing so pale he looked gray and sickly. He gasped and blubbered, stammering apologies for his father’s error in judgement - begged for his life like a coward - all the while offering up the wizarding world on a silver platter like it would save his neck. It made Hermione question how weak the wealthy really were. The snobbish muggle politicians she had been given files on to eliminate had whined like Malfoy as well. The poor and less fortunate died with more dignity than this man was exhibiting. She decided that money gave a person power and standing, but it didn’t give the same person courage and dignity when facing Death. A waste of oxygen, in her opinion.

“Come here, my little mudblood,” called Voldemort, and Hermione obeyed. “You will use your blades first. Take care to keep him alive as you butcher his pretty skin...”

And her work began. She used her weapons as she was commanded, striking his flesh in ways that maximized pain but minimized fatality. She had never tortured a target before, and she found she did not like it. It was easier to fall into the quiet place in her head before she pulled the trigger of a gun and put a bullet between a person’s eyes; to set up a sniper rifle hundreds of meters away, wait for a clear shot, and watch through the scope as her victim’s head exploded and collapsed to the ground, dead. Listening to a victim beg her to stop, cry and scream for mercy was not her cup of tea, but she did it anyway because Voldemort told her to. It pleased him, so she tuned out Lucius Malfoy’s pleas until all she heard was the sound of Voldemort’s voice instructing her on what to do next.

It lasted for more than an hour before she was ordered to decapitate the butchered man. She did so quickly, feeling the man’s livelihood soak her almost completely in red before handing the head to her Master, wiping her utensils clean and sheathing them. With all the Malfoys dead, the wards crashed down around the property, allowing Hermione and Voldemort to disapparate away from the master bedroom to the security of her own heavily warded fortress. The moment they arrived, Voldemort set aside the head of Lucius Malfoy - a Stasis Charm placed on it to prevent decay - and claimed her body several times that night. The Dark Lord’s victory would arrive expeditiously the following day, and Hermione would begin luring Dumbledore and his Order out into the open for a massacre of historical proportions. It had already been promised to her: Dumbledore and his little bloodhound, Snape, were off limits to everyone but her. She would take a small pleasure in taking them out.

Life would be better...Or, at least, better for Hermione Granger.

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**Fin.**

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Extra tidbit during the Beta’ing and writing process by brightneeBee and Mariico:

 

 

LOOOKKK. I think our comments could be a fic by itself. xDD idk...one of those OOC Tomione fics where they meet each other online and fall deeply in love.

v                       …...The Dark Lord would NEVER use a computer...silly muggle. XD

 

^Continue with that smut scene. ;)

 

…..It will. I’ll finish before I go to bed. I’m too wired to sleep right now, anyway. I’m on that “It’s almost done” last spurt of energy. ;P

I won’t - besides, I don’t have to work tomorrow...I can sleep as long as I need XD

Good night!

 Okay. Now go to bed! *waves*

 

Sorry to interrupt

Well, not very sorry

But I’m going to go sleep now. Just thought you should know. xD

I expect the thing to be done tomorrow. :D Or else....-cracks whips-

Well, don’t tire yourself out. You’ve been working for the entire day.

Yay for summer! Lol good night :D

 

WHOA YOU DID SOME WORK

YAYYYY. oops. I interrupted your smut scene.

Continue.

I know! I’m amazed! I’m one page away from done! :D

LOL, okay. ;P

ATTENTION ATTENTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m off to the airport.

So I won’t be back until about 12/1.

I’ll see you tomorrow. (aka I won’t disturb you until tomorrow. ;))

-waves-

OKAY, enjoy the airport!!!!! :) *does a dance* I can goof off if I want now!!! Woo hooo!!!! …..I mean...*goes back to writing*

<3<3

:D You’re welcome :D

*reaches out and smacks Mari upside the head* Know-it-all!

Aha I actually don’t even know. That could be wrong for all I know. xD

*glares* Well, I’m not changing it back, so you better be right! XD

FOCUS. WHY ARE YOU GETTING SO DISTRACTED. -smacks-

Because you’re distracting me! LOL

No, you’re distracting yourself.

I have a feeling that line was referring to me...>.>

*innocent eyes* Maybe.

NOOOO. GET YOUR CURSOR BACK UP THERE.

What are you doing, Mariico???? You’re making me nervous with the jumping green bar!

IT’S NOT JUMPING. IT’S BEEN STILL FOR THE LAST TEN MINUTES.

Well, before...when you were jumping around! It made me nervous. Thank you for remaining still for ten minutes! XP

Oh, now you’re just doing that to make a point!

I will try. :P

 

 

WHOA BRIGHT RED.

lol I’m off to shower.

I’ll be back later.

YOU BETTER FINISH BY THEN.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 THEIR EYES MET. AND THEN IT WAS LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. AND HERMIONE DITCHED THE JOB AND JUMPED DOWN AND HUGGED HIM LIKE....um...BFFLs.

BEE COME BACK. THE  MAJORITY OF THE STORY WILL BE IN COLOR IF YOU DON’T.

 

ARE YOU BACK YET

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. STOP PROCRASTINATING AND GET BACK HERE.

 

I WAS PUTTING BABIES TO BED, WOMAN! XD ARE YOU THERE, MARIICO?! ARE YOU THERE? GET BACK HERE, MARI - WE AREN’T DONE RUINING THIS STORY YET!

 

 

And then Hermione assassinated Lucius Malfoy with a rubber band. And then she and Voldemort married and had fifty kids and lived happily ever after.

<3

^Inspiration to finish

And then Hermione saw Lucius Malfoy’s son, Draco Malfoy. And he was so pretty, Hermione immediately fell in love with him followed him around all night. She finally worked up the courage to talk to him, and then they became boyfriend and girlfriend.

And then Voldemort was upset that Draco stole his true love, so he murdered Draco and locked Hermione in a room so they could make millions of babies.

 

You can write the next paragraph. ;)

(Highlighted just so you don’t accidentally miss it and upload it xD)

Alright, dinner for me too. (will stop ruining your story for a couple of minutes)

 

I don’t think you’re ruining the story - in fact I plan on keeping these highlighted portions and posting them with the story so people can see how crazy we are when working together XD *muahahaha*

 

 

Okay, now that i’ve officially ruined your story, I’ll wait for you to finish next time xD

YES.

lol no. I just happened to flip here when you typed that.

I HAVE A LIFE TOO.

D: I’ll replace your entire story with glittery vampire smut if you don’t continue typing.

;) you better.

                LOL!!!!!!

 

 You’re a trip!!!! XD LMAO!!!! I almost choked on my apple juice!!!!

 

Okay. ;)

 

Are you sitting there watching me type???? O.o?

 

….surrrrreeeeeeeee.

 

*goes back to typing as Bee eyes the whip in Mari’s hand*

 

Dinner time! Will return later to finish, even if I have to stay up until 3am ;P


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione was grateful for the headscarf hiding the frizzing mass of her hair. Even in a braid that traveled down to the small of her back, her curls were fairing horribly in the staunch humidity of Marrakech, Morocco. She had expected it to be more bearable during the spring months, but obviously she had been wrong to assume. She had followed her target throughout the entire country of Morocco, including the more hostile sections of the Middle East.

Apparently the American muggles were “at war” with the muggles in Iraq, as far as she could tell; some leader called “Bin Laden” and his “Taliban.” According to the muggle newspapers in Pakistan, the Taliban hijacked planes and flew them into U.S. buildings, and now there was a war. But it was centered a lot around oil-country and the Americans were claiming the invasion was under an “anti-terrorism” agenda.

It was none of her concern what the muggles were fighting over. Her eyes were strictly focused on the wizard clad in black, sneaking through the magical and muggle marketplaces of Morocco. This Order member was on a mission for Dumbledore, and she wanted to know what the barmy old wizard was up to. Dumbledore’s hindrance of Voldemort’s usurp of power over the old Malfoy-regime was becoming annoying. As it were, her Master and lover was unaware that she had left to trail one of Dumbledore’s little lapdogs. All he knew was that she had a job in the Middle East, and that was all he had asked before she left. The Dark Lord was far too busy to demand her exact whereabouts; not that she would disobey him.

The wind picked up and she squinted her eyes to prevent sand from floating into her vision or scratching her corneas. Hermione wrapped the headscarf more tightly over her face, covering her forehead, mouth and nose; obscuring her face enough that even if her target stared directly at her, he would think she were an ordinary Moroccan doing her daily shopping. She had made absolutely certain that her attire adhered to the dress code for traditional djellaba. She wanted to blend in completely.

Already sore from sneaking about the Koutoubia Mosque and Gardens after the target, her feet were screaming in the yellow-dyed slippers as she followed the wizard into the souk through Djemaa El Fna Square. It was by far the largest Medina she had seen during her journeys. The marketplaces in Fes could not compare to the populating sections of street performers and haggling salesmen with their colorful balgha shoes, kaftans and more materials of Marrakech style. Under her hawk-like eye, she noticed her target moving smoothly through the crowds towards the stalls showcasing herbs and medicinal minerals.

How many potions ingredients does this bloody man need? He had already spent a mint in Fes, Iran and Pakistan, and now he was spending a small fortune over sapphire-beetles from ancient burial grounds in the bloody desert! It was enough to convince Hermione that the Medina in Marrakech was an example of wizarding culture and muggle culture melding together into one shopping capital without even realizing. It was a medley of two distinctly different subcultures standing side by side and not questioning the familiarities or dissimilarities between the two groups, magical and non-magical.

“I would prefer the beetles to be gathered fresh during a waning moon,” the target argued in Amazigh, an arabic popular type of language. According to her reading before traveling, Amazigh was used to converse by a third of the Moroccan populace. “If you cannot acquire what I ask, I can easily take my business elsewhere, Hasan.”

“And what do you plan with my product, huh?” the man, Hasan, bit out. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her target, “You wizards are all the same! Demanding this and skimping payment that - your people are ungrateful for what we do for you!”

Oh, so this wasn’t the first time Dumbledore’s little slave had argued with Mr. Hasan, Hermione mused with a smirk. She picked up a copper trinket from the stall next to Hasan “the Apothecary” and feigned interest as she eavesdropped. The owner of her stall saw her and attempted to approach and sell her the item, but she waved him off. Putting down the trinket, she hovered her hand over several others, looking as though she could not make up her mind.

“If you knew what was good for you, sir,” snarled the target in aggressive Arabic, “you and your kind would be thankful to be left to your lives in peace! As for the product, you know exactly what I am using them for! There is only one application for sapphire-beetles from burial sites in potion brewing, so cease with your questioning!”

Hasan sniffed indignantly, but relented rather quickly. In Hermione’s opinion, the stall-keep could have held out a little longer and the wizard would have broken confidence. Fortunately, enough had been said for Hermione to find out the reason for the man’s travels all on her own. A few more days trailing him and she would be due back to jolly old England. She could resume surveillance of her target right before the scheduled meeting with Dumbledore. Hopefully, by then she would have a clear picture of what Albus was up to, and an outline of how to eliminate her biggest threat. Bloody old wizard continued to send his best Order members out to search for her and it was increasingly irritating.

Picking up another bracelet, an elegantly made piece of brass-work, Hermione paid whatever the stall-keep asked for and hurried off after the target inconspicuously. She slid the piece of jewelry onto her wrist and followed the wizard into a more crowded section of the Medina. It was the butcher division; fresh meats and whole animals hung from hooks or ropes tied to beams of each stall. Haggling customers swarmed in front of her, causing her to lose sight of the target in that split second. He had slipped through her fingers for the second time in her journey. But it was of no importance; she had enough information to go on. She could find him again, but what more did she need to see?

Taking a detour down an empty alleyway between stalls, Hermione shook her wrist, causing the little metal circles dangling from her bracelet to clink and jangle against each other in a pleasing way. Whatever the man was planning under Dumbledore’s orders, she would find out and hinder in any way she could. It was time for a little payback, in Hermione’s opinion.

________________________________________________________

****

“I asked when the Order meeting will be taking place, mudblood,” sneered the Dark Lord from his plump, wing-backed chair near the fireplace. His parchments were spread over the entire surface of her coffee table and from where she stood a metre away at the bookshelf, she could see that he was working on quite an extensive arithmantic - or was it arithmetic? - equation. For what, she still didn’t know. He had been pouring over it for weeks when he wasn’t recruiting via the pureblood societal-vine. For a man that had disappeared thirty-forty years prior, he still held quite a bit of heft in the “high nobility” of the wizarding world. “I requested it two days ago-”

The brass bracelet on her wrist jangled again as she swished her hand around to cause the calming noise. As she looked away from the line of books, she was contemplating to narrow her eyes at the impatient man, “I’m still working on it, my Lord. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

He growled viciously and returned to his equation, running his elegant fingers through his perfectly combed hair.

Hermione returned to searching the potions texts that would explain exactly what the sapphire-beetles harvested from grave-sites were utilized for. She wanted to start researching it before she left for yet another night of surveillance and weaseling-information-out-of on one of Dumbledore’s henchmen. For wizarding folk, several Order members frequented muggle dance clubs a lot for secret meetings. Hermione couldn’t blame them; it was quite easy to be overlooked or go completely unnoticed in the overcrowded establishments. It was harder to be overheard, as well. Quite difficult for eavesdroppers when muggle pop music was blaring so loudly one couldn’t even think, let alone hear what someone else was saying in close vicinity.

A sigh sounded from behind her and a firm chest pressed against her petite back, “What are you searching for, mudblood?”

She shivered from the heat exuded through his crisp, white and buttoned shirt, “I can find it on my own-”

“You have been attempting to ‘find it on your own’ for over a week now,” said Voldemort, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Ever since you returned from Morocco, you have been scouring the bookshelves in search of an answer...Tell me...”

His breath was hot against the exposed skin of her neck and she shivered again, “I never told you where exactly I went-”

“No other souk in the Middle East sells annoying, noisy bracelets made of brass, mudblood.”

“Hmm,” she considered his response and nodded. Hermione could only concede that purchasing the bracelet was a big giveaway, but it was either that or be noticed by the target. “Sapphire-beetles harvested during a waning moon from burial sites in the desert near Marrakech...would you perhaps know what such potions ingredients are used for?”

“Was that so difficult, Hermione?” the tone of intellectual superiority was blatant, but she ignored it. One of his many charms, she thought as he continued to get a rise out of her, “Asking for my help will not kill you. In fact, it could reap extremely...pleasurable benefits for you.”

His teeth scraped over the pulsing artery down the side of her throat and she shuddered in reaction. Her breath hitched high in her chest, her heart pounded against her ribcage and she felt feverish where his hands touched. One of the aforementioned hands moved up from her hip and cupped a breast, kneading it expertly.

She let him continue to worship the column of her neck, licking and kissing and nipping along the delicate lines. Her head rested back on his broad chest and she sighed from the warmth spreading through her body, localizing between her legs. Voldemort brought his other hand - and what glorious hands they were! - up to her other aching breast and began working both pert globes simultaneously. He even raked his fingernails over her budding nipples from under the fabric of her dress.

“Such a provocative outfit for a night doing research, mudblood,” he acknowledged into her ear, wrenching another shudder and groan from Hermione. “It makes me suspect you will not be here tonight...at all.”

That was right; she had Order members to follow tonight, didn’t she? How could his hands on her body have such an effect on her? He had made her forget all about the agenda for the night.

Reluctantly, she stopped his hands and turned to face him, “You’re right. I have plans tonight, Order members to manipulate information from...of course,” she ran a finger down the row of buttons to the belt buckle at his trousers, “I could stay in tonight...we don’t need to know when the next Order meeting is being held...”

He stepped away with a grin and returned to the coffee table and his equation, “I desire you to obtain that information more than I desire your body, mudblood.”

She smirked triumphantly and left the bookshelf to finish getting ready for the night.

“And Hermione...”

She stopped and answered sweetly, “Yes?”

“Sapphire-beetles harvested in that manner are used in ancient protection rituals,” Voldemort said informatively, using his lecture-tone. “Whomever is attempting to brew the potion would certainly need a willing participant to sacrifice themselves to protect another.”

She nodded, the explanation making perfect sense, “Well, I can’t allow...whomever...to brew such a thing, can I?”

“If it is Dumbledore and his potions master brewing it,” sneered Voldemort, “then no.”

“You are too perceptive, you know. And far too suspicious of Albus Dumbledore.”

“No, you are just a horrible liar,” sneered the Dark Lord, looking up from his parchments. “And an even worse Occlumens after I have barely touched you...You will tell me what business you undertook in the Middle East, Hermione...and its relation to Dumbledore.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes behind his back, “When I have all the facts, then maybe...”

“No, mudblood. You will tell me this evening when you return, or I will be inclined to punish you for disobedience,” snarled Voldemort, having stood from his chair and crossed the distance between them in seconds flat. “And do not roll your eyes at me again, Hermione. It is childish and I will have you screaming on the floor in pain before you can blink.”

She glared at him and stalked off towards the bedroom. Hermione only had three hours to straighten her hair and transfigure her appearance into that which Auror-in-Training Ron Weasley would find most appealing. Anything she needed to make her job easier to get what she needed.

Anything to get away from “his Highness” for a few hours before they killed each other...or attempted to.


	3. Chapter Three

The music thumped angrily throughout the club as Hermione entered. Never one to wear tiny, slinky dresses, she felt slightly self-conscious in the strapless dress. The sweetheart cut bodice in this mini-cocktail dress was ridiculously tight, but only gave a peek at the swell at the tops of her breasts, unless she raised her arms over head. Then she could be arrested for public indecency. At least the skirt was semi-acceptable, in her opinion. The shimmering champagne bodice stopped above her bellybutton and the skirt flowed out in ruffled layers ending mid-thigh.

Hermione could not fathom the kind of women who wore such things - didn’t they have any self-respect? She had been forced to leave her most of her thigh holsters and blade sheaths at home, leaving her with very little weaponry on her person.

Her hair had cooperated that night and hung in straight layers down to the backs of her thighs, a shimmering shade of blond. She had even transfigured the color of her irises into a striking blue - a deep cerulean - and her complexion slightly more pale but very peachy. No major changes to her actual facial structure had been made, leaving her cheekbones, lips, and jaw line the same as it had always been. Make-up was light, almost natural, and her lips were tinted with a quick swipe of cherry-hue chapstick. It was Ronald Weasley’s preferences dictating her appearance for the night, and she reiterated, Anything to make this job easier.

She walked in on black ankle-cut booted heels with “swag.” Was that what her generational muggle counterparts called it? Swag, “an overwhelming confident strut that attractive young people exuded?” Hermione just called it “walking hot.” Or saunter. And like a model on a runway, she was all too at ease with high heels. She had worn them on more occasions than she wished, but heels were required when piquing the interest of foreign delegates during a job to finagle confidential information.

Her eyes scanned the overpopulated dance floor, and the too few openings at the bar. Tall, thin tables were occupied by groups of men and women, all each in their separate packs. Hermione needed a decent spot that gave her full view of the entire club and its denizens. She needed a vantage point.

Moving through the lively club, Hermione spotted a vacated table near the DJ booth. It was in the shadows, desirable to her because of the way shadows fell over it and casting most of the table in invisible darkness. It would leave her invisible to the socializing crowds and provide her with the complete panorama. It was her ideal corner and she pushed through to get to it before it was taken by any passersby.

“Hello, love,” a freckled face ginger - not the target she was looking for - said as he stepped in her path. “Fancy a dance with me?”

He had a friendly face, recognizable anywhere as innately Weasley, but not Ronald Weasley. He was slightly older than the youngest male in the bloodline, his shoulders more narrow and his overall build scrawny, but well-defined. If she had to guess, the man blocking her from her desired table was one of the twins, possibly Fred, since George had lost an ear several weeks ago. She had dossiers on almost everyone on the wizarding world by now, and gossip always did find its way through the grapevine.

“Maybe later,” replied Hermione, smirking.

She sidestepped him and moved forward to claim her table, only to stop in horror. Her table was still empty, but three tables away, more towards the bar, stood the bothersome Weasley she had just blown off, Ronald Weasley and his friend, Harry Potter, the only Weasley female, Ginny, and Severus bloody Snape. The Bloodhound was here. She had not expected that surprise. He looked so out of place in his muggle get-up; black button shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, black slacks, and his hair pulled away from his face. She had to admit, pulled back or left to hang freely, Snape’s appearance was still far from attractive. His large, hooked nose made it impossible to perceive any defining feature that made him look decent. He was just an ugly man and his scowling did not help matters.

Pulling all of her hair from behind her and placing it over her right shoulder, Hermione let the curtain of honey-blond hair obscure her face. She played off her consternation as disorientation, changing directions and moving closer to the bar; closer to the Order’s table. Taking an empty seat at the corner, Hermione ordered a relatively virginal drink and took a splash of rum in her Cola instead of the normal measure. She sipped it while watching the table chat amicably out of the corner of her eye. Obviously, the meeting had not started yet and the congregated members were merely enjoying a night out. From the bits and pieces she caught during lulls and pauses in the songs playing..

“Have you been able...And find her...She’d be an asset...”

“I don’t have to, Potter...She’ll come to...and will not get away...Has been following me...”

“But surely...She’s special ops...trained...You’ve been trying for years to draw her out...”

That piqued Hermione’s interest. Was Snape speaking of her? There couldn’t be more witches and/or wizards with the same governmental training that she had received, could there be? No, no. There couldn’t be. Snape must be talking about Hermione. There couldn’t be anyone else that Dumbledore wanted drawn out more than Hermione. She had slipped through his fingers far too quickly, at the first chance to run off into freedom, and he definitely wanted her back. She knew she was damn useful, especially to do the old coot’s dirty work. Dumbledore was a master in manipulation, an expert at moving his little chess pieces around the proverbial board for his own benefit. He was no better than Voldemort, and at least that dark wizard was honest about it.

Hermione took another sip of her drink daintily and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. One of the gingers was moving in her direction. Oh, the twin was coming back for a dance. Bloody hell, how was she not drawing the attention of the youngest Weasley? Her intel had not shown any patterns of being in a relationship, so what was Ronald Weasley’s problem? And why was his older brother drawing so much attention to her?! Snape would surely see through her transfigurations. Oh, bloody hell.

She lowered her eyelids and gave the persistent Weasley a small smile as he approached her, “Come to collect that dance?”

He nodded and extended his hand, “I can’t stay away from a pretty girl for long.”

Taking one last sip from her drink, Hermione laid it down where the bartender would see, with payment pinned underneath the glass. Turning to the ginger-haired wizard, Hermione pointed towards his table, “Won’t your friends feel left out? None of them are dancing...”

“They’ll be fine for a few minutes,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “Fred, by the way. Fred Weasley.”

He shook her hand and waited for her to introduce herself with a simple, “Cecelia Kinsey.” Like she was really going to give her real name away with Snape in the same room? No. She was a seasoned assassin, not some amateur off the street. Besides, if she played her cards right, she would have an invitation into the Order for that big, important meeting soon.

Hermione allowed Fred to guide her onto the dance floor, pleased that he picked a spot with less gyrating bodies. It provided a full view of his crowding table, and it gave Hermione the ability to keep an eye on Snape. The raven-haired elder amongst a congregation of young adults eyed her suspiciously, and she was certain that even under the transfigured hair and eye colors, he saw right through her guise. She hoped against it, but she had spent hours with the wizard, every day for years, and she was quite certain that sharp mind never forgot a face.

"So what brings a lovely girl like you to a place like this?" asked Fred, drawing her eyes away from Snape and out of her own thoughts.

She swayed her hips to the music, letting them brush against Fred every so often to keep generating interest. Smiling, she answered, "I enjoy the music! There are no places like this across the border!" She had to yell over the bass pounding away at her eardrums. "This is far better than Celestina Warbeck!"

The mischievous brown eyes of Fred Weasley sparkled in the flashing strobe lights at that well-dropped piece of information. No one but a resident of the wizarding world could or would know who Celestina Warbeck is. And by stating how horrid the witch was at singing, Hermione had undoubtedly said, Hey, I'm a witch! A muggleborn witch, at that! Invite me to your meetings to save the mudblood race!

Now all she had to do was wait for the wizard's inquisitive nature to take and for the questions to be asked. Hermione was almost certain that Fred Weasley did not bump into pretty witches at muggle establishments on a regular basis. Which meant his attraction to her in that moment would skyrocket based on that one admittance to her preference of muggle music to wizarding. And from the way he danced closer to her, she could tell that he was hooked. Maybe Ron Weasley wasn't the weak link into the Order of the Phoenix, maybe it was his older brother, Fred?

The scrawny ginger leaned down to meet her petite height and pressed his cheek against hers. It was easier to talk, and Hermione could only smirk at Snape glowering at Fred's back while the ginger-haired man spoke into her ear,

"So, you're a witch?"

Hermione nodded and replied, "Of course, I am! Otherwise, the wand hiding in my cleavage would be just a stick!"

They both laughed and Fred took another step closer, "How did I not notice you at Hogwarts?"

She laughed again, pressing her body against his to reach his ear, "I attended Beauxbatons because of the anti-muggleborn propaganda making its circulation when I was eleven! I am sure you would have noticed me if I had gone to your school!"

He grinned at her before twirling her around and pulling her back to him. They were already on their third song and farther along in the conversation by the time Fred asked her to join his table. Snape had glared at them for the last ten minutes, and apparently Potter had signaled that everyone who was supposed to be in attendance had finally arrived. Therefore, the meeting was about to commence.

Fred guided her to the table, and there was quite a commotion from the Weasley sister, Snape, and a rather round-faced man with buck-teeth named Neville. Being an outsider to a meeting that was suppsoed to be a secret, Hermione graciously bowed out with the excuse of powdering her nose. While everyone glared at Fred, she placed a sequin-sized microphone on the underside of the table.

Having already acted as though she was fishing out her case of powder, the tiny microphone stuck to the pad of her middle finger and she was able to slyly place the recording device out of sight and unnoticed by Snape. With a promise to wait for Fred at the bar, Hermione retreated to the women's loo to listen in on the information being traded between members. If she could just make it to the line leading out of the loo, Hermione could catch the discussion regarding her, or at the very least the back-end of it. And as she neared the loo, she squished the earphone in her ear canal, and heared the voices of Neville and Potter berate Fred for his weakness for pretty girls. Hermione had to stifle a giggle at the reprimand that Fred was taking, all because he wanted to shag her.

"-and you can't just bring her over here when there is high-level information being talked about!" hissed Harry.

It turned over to Neville, "You don't know anything about her! What if she is a spy from the Malfoy-factions still out there? Or sent by this new bloke, Voldyhort?"

"Voldemort, you moron," Hermione muttered as the line to the loo moved forward. "Lord Voldemort, and you should address him as the Dark Lord or feel his wrath!"

"Come on, Nev! She's a Beaubatons alumni, and she's muggleborn! She left the country to escape Malfoy's Death Eaters!" Holy Merlin, Fred Weasley was dense!

"Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Weasley," drawled Snape in his trademark sneer, "that she was...stop me if I am being foolish...lying to you?"

"I know that we can trust her! I think she'll make a great recruit for the Order!" said Fred. "Just let me bring her to the next meeting, yeah? Atleast let me introduce her to Dumbledore! We could use her contacts in the muggle world - for Merlin's sake, she's a dignitary for Ten Downing...whatever that is!"

Snape, again, "Oh, by all means...since she works for the muggle Minister, she must be completely trustworthy!"

"Fred, seriously," oh, wittle Ronniekins was chiming in, "If you want to shag her, just shag her. Why are you so set on impressing her?"

"I think our older brother wants more than a quick shag, Ron," Ginny interjected. Oh, she sounds prettier than she looks, thought Hermione. "Me thinks Fred would like to woo her-"

"Knock it off!" Fred sounded testy.

"Oh, for the love," this was a new voice and it puzzled Hermione, "Snape, lets just invite her to the meeting with Albus and Obliviate her afterwards! Otherwise, Fred is going to sneak her in, anyway..."

She craned her neck over the tops of the crowd on the dance floor and looked across the club to the Order's table. The one still speaking was about Ron's height, wiry build and bespectacled. Must be Percy Weasley, the rest of the ginger lot were less uptight, but the most ambitious Weasley had a point. Fred was looking to impress her, which meant he would do anything to get her into the Order meeting and Hermione was banking on that. As much as she wanted to please the Dark Lord, because she did enjoy the rewards when she did; Hermione's main reason for infiltrating the Order of the Phoenix was deeply personal and selfish.

Dumbledore had rescued her, given her hope that she would be free and live a better life than what the muggle government had planned for her. The old wizard thought himself so clever, that she would view him as her saviour even when he appointed Snape to train her just as his muggle counterparts had done. Hermione's blinders had dissolved quickly and she saw through his act. That whole "friendly grandfather that everyone loves" facade hadn't worked on Hermione when the wrinkled old man had handed her a file and an objective; it wouldn't now. Nor had it in the time in between.

Her musings were interrupted by Snape's snarking drawl, "I will speak with Albus and send his answer regarding the matter. Until then, the date and location of the meeting will. Not. Be. Leaked."

She could feel the glare that Fred was being fixed with and she couldn't care less for his discomfort. All Hermione wanted was for the bloody lag-a-bouts to hurry up and spill the beans about anything of importance! They were dragging out the inevitable and Hermione was growing impatient. She was almost to the loo, which meant she would soon be returning to the bar. If they didn't move onto the confidential shite in the next two minutes she would be forced to disengage the earphone from the interior of her ear and miss that vital information that she had been so desperately awaiting.

"Eh, you! Stop holdin' up the line," the woman behind her poked Hermione in the shoulder. The woman's eyes grew wide as Hermione's reflexes resembled that of a large breed of vicious wild feline. Her hand shot out at lightning speed and wrapped around the rude woman's wrist, twisting away from Hermione's person.

"Do not touch me," said Hermione in her bitchiest tone. She glared at the woman and her lips retracted in a snarl before she shoved the hand away from her and stepped into the loo. Locking the door, Hermione perched upon the rim of the commode and listened in on the turn the conversation was taking.

Snape was speaking, and her skin crawled listening to the blatant triumph in his tone, "All Albus wants the Order to know is that I am handling the Granger dilemma, and he will supply you all with answers the moment he deems it necessary to know. Now, I have acquired the ingredients for the ritual, so Longbottom and Potter's families will be protected."

"And what of the prophecy? Do we know who leaked it?" asked Longbottom.

Hermione had to stifle another giggle. Neville Longbottom? Seriously, how ridiculous a name for a wizard! It was just as obvious as Severus Snape and the Malfoys and the Weasleys.

"Albus is weeding out the leak, but thus far only a fraction of the prophecy is known. For the time being, only this group is aware of the full prophecy and what it pertains," explained Snape. "If the full prophecy were to reach this rising Dark Lord the ramifications would be catastrophic. So far, no declaration against the Longbottoms or Potters has been made."

"Do you suspect there might?" This from Ginny, Potter's wife. Being of the ginger-Weasley lot, Hermione kept forgetting that she was married to the shining star of the Auror Department, Harry Potter. "Will we need to go into hiding, Severus?"

"Your little families will be the first to know, if it is necessary," said Snape. "Until then, I would recommend caution when interacting with strangers...and especially with your...progeny...in tow."

"You say it with such disdain, Severus," scoffed Ginny, her tone almost teasing. "Don't think that I didn't see you enchant James's mobile-decs to float about during the last meeting!"

"I did no such thing." Snape sounded extremely offended.

The rest of the group chuckled at the greasy bat's expense and returned to business. More delectable tidbits passed from one to another to the collective. Information on the Order's infiltration in the Minister for Magic's office, with the support and appointment of Shacklebolt as the leader of the British wizarding community. And then there was the talk of how to plant moles in Ten Downing, close to the muggle Prime Minister. Of course, the suggestion of Cecelia Kinsey being a fresh recruit for the Order came up again (thank you, Fred Weasley). Her status as a behind-the-scenes dignitary in Ten Downing left a lot to be desired.

Close access to the Prime Minister, the ear of every Parliamentary representative and other politicians, and enough clearance to move through the highest branch of government was ideal. What a wonderful thing that Cecelia Kinsey had the whole package they were looking for. And even more amazing, was Hermione's fake identity was real and established in muggle politics. A hit-job that she never quit, it allowed her the flexibility to travel internationally for her black market jobs; assassinations and art or document stealing. Yes, Cecelia Kinsey was quite a busy woman, on and off the clock.

The only problem was that Cecelia looked quite different than she did at that moment, as Hermione Granger attempting to seduce vital information and manipulate entrance into the Order of the Phoenix. Working in Ten Downing Street, Cecelia Kinsey was under the radar and looked like the girl next door. She was a blue-eyed, raven-haired woman with glasses in a pencil-skirt; not a blond in a dress meant for dance clubs. But, maybe, that could be explained away easily? If anything, her fellow dignitaries would accept the explanation of a makeover; muggle women did those things all the time, right?

"Speak for yourself," snapped Harry at a rather persistent Fred."The idea of her sounds swell,  but you don't know her at all! I'm not risking the safety of my family because you fancy her!"

"Exactly," Longbottom chimed in, "Hannah is pregnant, Fred. You're putting your prick before the safety of the rest of us. We can't take the risk."

"Fine," spat Fred. Clearly he was breaking under the pressure. "I'll wait until Snape speaks to Dumbledore."

"Oh,  sweetheart," mumbled Hermione as she ignored the heavy banging on the loo door. "You could have held out a little longer before caving like you have no bollocks."

Having enough information to please Voldemort, Hermione disengaged the earphone from the canal and tucked it into a small pocket in her clutch.  She exited the loo,  glaring at the woman next in line,  and waded through the gyrating mass of bodies separating her from the bar.  She took an empty seat that gave her a perfect view of the Order's table,  ordered herself a Tequila Sunrise and waited for Fred to return for another dance.  She watched him from her vantage point,  lowering her lashline in an attempt to look more seductive than she felt.  A come-hither expression while she sipped her drink through a straw caught his eye and held it on her for short lengths. He would blush before turning back to the conversation at hand.

Hermione waited close to twenty minutes before the group dispersed and Fred meandered over. He ordered a drink,  brandy straight on the rocks,  and offered his hand before guiding her to the table the Order had just vacated. His brother, Ron, had remained and Fred introduced Hermione,  and vice-versa. She kept a friendly smile on her face as the three of them discussed Cecelia's work in the Prime Minister's office. Hermione was grateful to have had the common sense to keep the position in Ten Downing Street when she could have put in a notice  and left.  

After completing an assassination job on two members of the Prime Minister's cabinet,  Cecelia Kinsey had not once come under suspicion. The replacements for the aforementioned positions had been the ones to hire her,  but they had never known who she was or what she looked like.  The men had only been aware of one thing: one of the top hitters in the United Kingdom had done what she was paid for, and it had been executed flawlessly.  No suspicions had fallen on the guilty,  and business had continued as per usual.  Keeping her,  for lack of a better term,  part-time career as a foreign dignitary was a genius move on her part.

"-and then he turned into a canary!" barked Fred, ending his anecdote. "Ron here refuses to accept any pastries or sweets I offer,  to this day!"

Ron did not look amused, but he gave a nervous chuckle all the same.

Hermione paid attention to both Weasleys and her surroundings as the conversation twisted and turned down different avenues between magical and muggle topics. Ron shared several hilarious stories that had accumulated since he had joined the Auror Department three years previously.  Fred told jokes and described the joke shop, Weasley Wizard Wheezes,  that he ran with his twin brother,  George.  And Hermione,  as Cecelia Kinsey,  recalled the many trips abroad and remarkable sights she had had the honor of seeing while on business.  

Soon, many drinks and few hours later,  Ron bid his brother a good night and shook Hermione's hand with a, "Pleasure to meet you,  Cecelia,"  before heading home. It left Fred and Hermione alone,  and she could not have been more pleased.  

She danced with the charismatic Weasley twin for another hour,  sipped on her third Tequila Sunrise and chatted about the back story of what the Order of the Phoenix was to the wizarding world and what exactly the resistance movement did.  Hermione was already aware of the infrastructure of Dumbledore's little army; she knew who was too ranking and who were less in the ranks.  And after listening in on the top secret information pass between the members congregated earlier,  Hermione knew what Albus would not be discussing during the upcoming meeting; hence the aforementioned secret meetig between specific members.

She giggled when she needed to,  gyrated to the rhythm of the music playing with the rest of the women with no self-respect onbthe dance floor and her facade paid off.  

Five minutes until last call,  Fred - like every sex driven male in his early twenties - asked with a grin, "Your place or mine?" It was the only opening Hermione needed and ahe accepted with a giggly, "My place." She let him pay her tab and his before taking him by the hand and lacing their fingers. She lived in the muggle world more than half the time and had parked her car in the adjacent garage owned by the club.  

Fred Weasley, in his pissed up state, was giddy with the idea of riding in her BMW because it beat the nausea that followed after apparation. Pulling out her keys,  Hermione unlocked the stylish, black luxury vehicle by pushing a button on the small keypad and helped her "friend"  into the passenger seat. On her way around the back of the car to the driver's side door,  she pulled out a Sobering Potion and gulped it down before she climbed in behind the wheel.

Hermione put the key in the ignition and the BMW turned on with a purr. She pulled out and left the parking garage after two minutes of creeping down three levels of sitting vehicles. Once her tires touched pavement, she turned left and took off with a lead foot and a Notice-Me-Not Charm on her car to prevent speeding tickets.

"So, how does a gorgeous witch like you end up in muggle politics?"  asked Fred,  not even slurring from the amount of alcohol he had drank that evening. "Why aren't you working for our Ministry?"

She snorted, "A muggleborn working under the Malfoy occupation? Are you serious? I finished my magical education in France while keeping up with my muggle schooling through correspondence courses. By the time I sat my N.E.W.T.S,  I was graduating with high marks in the muggle world. I went on to Uni... Cambridge...and earned degrees in foreign studies,  languages and political sciences. My internship lead to Ten Downing and I've been there,  behind the scenes, ever since... It was more safe than across the border."

Fred nodded, "Smart bird. You could come back to the wizarding world, now. Someone took out old Malfoy months ago. It's loads safer for muggleborns then it used to be."

She smiled and shook her head, "I can take the rare trip to Diagon, but I am perfectly fine where I am. Besides,  you said there was a rising contender persuading the fanatical purebloods to his cause... another Lucius Malfoy. Why would I enter your world with all that going on when my job in the muggle community could be of so much help to this... Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore," said Fred,  looking out of the window as streetlights whizzed by, "Snape said he would talk to him about recruiting you."

"Anything to help," offered Hermione. "I have enough clout and the ear of the Minister, most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

She smirked, "When I'm not away on business. Abroad summits with fellow dignitaries to discuss potential treaties between countries. I'm rarely present at Ten Downing because I am always on planes to and from meetings and pre-meetings, but the Minister listens when I am back for debriefings. Or when I accompany him out of the country."

"Sounds boring," said Fred,  grinning at his 'funny' jab at her profession.

"Depends on preferences," she answered shortly. "It's what I studied to do and I enjoy it. Besides,  I get to tour so many amazing places and sightsee when I am not running from embassy to embassy."

A block from her townhouse, Hermione pulled up in front of a nice hotel. The Hotel Babylon seemed the perfect place do what she needed and leave the Weasley to his own devices in the morning. The room be paid for and she would leave a short note for when he woke. The plan was solid; there would be no glitches or foul-ups tonight. As long as she kept Fred Weasley's mind on shagging and his wand away from him at all costs than everything would go smoothly. A little Obliviate and a night spent in the throes of incredible passion should cover her tracks if any Legilimens checked Fred's memories of this night. She needed that prophecy,  needed the date for the Order meeting,  needed a way in to keep an eye on Dumbledore and Snape in the hope of ending one and collecting the other. She had to disband the Order of the Phoenix, and the only way to do that was to create chaos in the upper sanctions and take out their leader. And as much as she despised Snape, he would prove useful to Voldemort.

Which was why she needed Fred Weasley and the information hiding in that little noggin.

"Fancy schmancy," chortled Fred as a man opened the door for him. "I thought you said your place? What are we doing here?"

Hermione giggled and stepped out as another man opened her door. The night air held that pre-sunrise frost that told the populace that spring was still masquerading as winter. That burst of chill that jerked a person out of the grogginess of drink or sleep. That meant her target for the night was wide awake and two minutes away from sober. It was unfortunate. Hermione would have to get a few more drinks in Fred once they were in the hotel room.

Eyeing his grin, she figured getting several more drinks in the wizard would hardly be difficult.

"This is where I stay," said Hermione, taking Fred by the hand and guiding him inside to warmth by a mere sultry look from over her shoulder. "I am hardly in the city long enough to waste money on a flat. I live in hotels."

He grinned widely and slung his arm over her shoulders,  staying quiet as they bypassed reception and moved towards the elevator. Part of her suspected it was to level himself enough to appear more sober than he was; the other part suggested it was a stake of claim to any male specimens they passed in the corridors. Whatever it was,  it was annoying and she was not comfortable with any man violating her personal space. The only exception was the Dark Lord, but that was pretty self-explanatory. Besides, Voldemort only touched her to reign her in, keep her in check and to show her who her Master was. It was quite pleasurable.

Inside the hotel room, which Hermione was thankful of her sharp planning to have reserved and picked up the key earlier in the day,  Fred sat on the large and luxurious bed. Testing its bounce and softness, he turned to watch his "date" as she moved about the room. She planned her movements down to a precise art. Like a trained courtesan in 17th century Venice,  Hermione mixed drinks in fluid, graceful movements; she smirked seductively at him from under her lashes. He blushed.

"Explain something to me, Fred," said Hermione as she handed him a vodka on the rocks. She waited for him to gulp half the glass down and nod before continuing, "The older man at your table... who is he? He seemed familiar to me."

"Snape?" asked Fred, his face scrunched in confusion. "Why are we talking about greasy old Snape for?"

Hermione shrugged and smiled, setting down her drink on the nightstand. Pulling up the skirt of her dress, she revealed the lace top of her stockings and the garter holding them up, "You're right,  Fred. We shouldn't talk about Snape... I can find a more productive action for that mouth of yours..."

"Oh, really? What did you have in mind?"

She pulled her dress up to reveal a holstered can of mace,  small and not offending at all. Something every muggle woman, single and young, carries with them during a night on the town. She pulled the holster over her stocking and off her leg before stepping away, "Strip for me... then I'll put that mouth of yours to work."

There was a fire in Fred's eyes, burning hot and low,  causing his cheeks to flood with color. He stood from the bed and took his wand out first. He laid it on the night stand and divested himself of his clothes in record time. In mere seconds he was standing before her in only his under shorts. Hermione let her eyes take on the same fiery, hungry look as when she was taking in the pale God-like physique of Voldemort just before he ravashed her deliciously. Her eyes roamed over Fred Weasley and declared him pasty, not pale; his body thin and athletic, but not built attractively. He was too freckled for her tastes, but maybe that was because she had Voldemort to compare to. It didn't matter because she had no actual desire or intention of sleeping with this man when she had a much finer specimen in her townhouse at that very moment.

No, she was just anticipating getting this over with.

She smirked, as he staggered backwards and landed sluggish on the bed. Hermione had been waiting for the belladonna she dropped into his drink before turning around to hand it to him. Not enough to knock him out completely, but just a pinch dissolved into his drink to make him too slow to defend himself.

Yes, one pinch of powdered belladonna was the perfect dose.

"What the -"

She pulled her wand from its hiding place between her breasts and immobilised Fred Weasley before he could comprehend what she was doing. She stalked over to him and straddled his hips while the tip of her wand trailed over that sensitive point at the temple. It was the most intimacy she would be giving to this freckly, pasty wizard.

"You should have listened to Snape when he voiced his reasons against bringing me into the fold," she whispered against Fred's cheek. "You don't know me at all... And poor Snape...he's been trying to drag me out for Dumbledore since I escaped. I was right under his beak-nose all night and he never bothered to really look.

"Now, you have some very important information inside that extremely ginger head of yours, Freddie, and I am interested in learning everything you know," whispered Hermione. "Are you going to fight me, or are you going to willingly give me what I am looking for? Oh, and don’t worry...You won’t remember anything more than a night of wildly insane shagging.”

His eyes grew wide as she loomed over him. With one whispered incantation, she was propelled into his mind and havoc ensued. Jumbled memories and thoughts bombarded her as she attempted to make sense of them all. It became clear that Fred Weasley was quite accomplished at pulling an attacker through a mental goose-chase. She gritted her teeth as she pushed herself further into the depths of the Weasel’s mind.

****

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
